Haibun: Moments

So much depends on the moment. The first time my nephew called me by my name, I stopped and said, “Yes.” I remember that. I remember the moment when I knew my love would be returned if I let my heart be held by her blue eyes. I remember that moment.

Then there are the random moments I remember, ones like my uncle reaching down and picking the little green plant outside the church, tasting it, saying it was “hmmm, rosemary,” before we walked up the small hill to bury his mother. I know why he is my favorite of my dad’s brothers. 

Every second is another chance of a moment. But moments are the punchline or plot arch of the stories we tell ourselves. Moments are events that come together in that collision of time to make our stories work, our narratives come together, and the world make sense or not makes sense for a second until we realize we had it all wrong and we figure out how the story really is.

there for that moment

driftwood soon to pilgrim on

as summer floats off